


Oblivious

by RyMagnatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alley Sex, Arson, Blood, Confessions, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Groping, I'll add characters and pairings as we continue, Interrogation, M/M, Murder, Panty Raid, Serial Killers, Skinning, Stabbing, also christmas music, and sailor girl outfits, and some fun references to stuff, bludgeoning, cop cars, district attorneys are good aunts, greaser gangster wannabe's, jaaaaaail time, lots of people die, other crazy shit, serial killer boyfriends, some rairpairs, weird clown beliefs, weird kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're fairly normal for a guy; you have a best friend, a steady although somewhat shady job, and a hobby. Your best friend is a badmouthed, angry guy with a new roommate. Your job may or may not be supplying some slight of hand medicinal herbs. Your hobby is murder.</p><p>You're Gamzee Makara, and you're pretty normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into Gloves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bri an Cricket (Merry Christmas)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bri+an+Cricket+%28Merry+Christmas%29).



> Merry Christmas Bri an Cricket. (Enjoy your precious murderous boys)

Gloomy drizzly days are the best. Like when the rain is almost like those misters at the grocery store to keep the produce fresh. Everyone still uses their umbrellas, covering their heads from the life giving water that the messiahs poured out over them. You like the light rains, they don’t make your face paint run but they help everyone feel that much closer to the messiahs. They make everyone just a little more oblivious.

Obliviousness, you knew, was the real thing next to divinity. Nothing brought you closer to a spiritual high than witnessing the oblivious, blind eye of man. That was the messiahs’s true will.

And none was more divine in all the world than your very own best friend.

On this particular drizzly day, you were walking to his apartment. The rain slid down your neck to the collar of your shirt and dampened your dark hair. Half a block back, the rain has already begun to wash away the life’s blood of a lovely old man. You assume he was lovely, weren’t all of the elderly such? Your granddad certainly was.

Well, in any case, he really hadn’t seen it coming (they rarely ever do) and when you’d crushed the aged mass of brainmatter in your fingers you had felt the sky open up and the cherubs of your messiahs pour down their exaltations upon you.

There was no better way to wash blood away than with the blessed tears of cherubs.

It was with a smile you rode the rickety elevator up to the sixth floor. It was with a smile you went strolling down the hall to the ninth apartment. It was with this same smile that you knocked on the door.

It jerked open and suddenly there he stood, furrowed eyebrows and a wild splash of freckles on his otherwise pale cheeks. The face of a god. You smiled at him, “Hey best friend.”

“Of course you’d fucking show up now. We just finished moving the last of Captor’s shitty boxes and ordered the pizza.” He jabs towards his apartment with his thumb over his shoulder, “Get your ass in here. Did you walk in the rain again? Where the fuck is your jacket? How the hell do you even survive.”

You amble into the place. There are a few new boxes around, one by the TV and another back near the entrance to the kitchen. “Ah shit,” you hunch your shoulders, hands still in your pockets. “You got a roomie already, bro?”

“Yes I did. I told you I was looking for a roommate. Now stay here for a second.” He goes further back into the apartment, into his bedroom. When he comes back he has a large shirt, a towel, and he’s talking again, “And when you failed to get the hint I put out ads. Captor was the least perverted one I could find.”

You’d known Karkat wanted you to live with him, but there was no way you could preserve his divine obliviousness if you had. You peel off your shirt quickly and take his towel. After drying yourself off, you pull on one of his shirts. It’s an old 80’s shirt of some rock band he got as a hand-me-down. He grumbles at you and takes the wet shirt and damp towel to throw into his laundry. While he’s gone you call out, “Want some help unpacking all these motherfucking boxes, best friend?”

Karkat sighs as he walks back to you again, “Yes, yes, fine. That box by the kitchen has some dishes. Empty it.” he gestures to the box before going over to the TV and emptying the one there.

“Got it.” You go over and pick up the box and carry it into the kitchen. You’ve always liked his kitchen. It was small, but could still fit a table with a couple of chairs and a decent oven. Sure, he didn’t have a dishwasher, but there was nothing more therapeutic than watching your best friend standing on a stool as he washed the dishes, muttering curses to the grease the whole time.

You notice a little blood dried in the lines of your palms as you set the box down so you spend a few minutes scrubbing it away. There’s a little red under your nails but you’re cool with that. Karkat won’t notice. You get to work putting the hodgepodge of dishes away.

About the time you’re cramming all the packing paper back into the box, this skinny as a motherfuck guy walks into the kitchen. He’s all sharp edges from his pointed chin to his sharp little nose. He takes one look at you, shrugs his narrow shoulders, gets out an energy drink from the fridge and walks back out.

The next thing you hear is, “KK, your boyfriend is fucking tall as shit.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Karkat shouts, “Haven’t you ever heard of just friends before? I would have thought that you’d have more experience with that sort of thing.”

There’s a weird sort of chuckling, a new kind of laugh. You take it as the spindly guy’s laugh and make a face. He sounds sickly. “Pretty sure you shouldn’t say so, mister how do I find my prince charming slash damsel in distress. At lease I’ve fucked a girl before.”

You don’t like his tone. You leave the kitchen with a scowl. This guy is stretched out the couch, drinking his stomach acid in a can while Karkat arranges cases on a shelf. “And where are those girls now? Are you hiding them away inside your computer?” He doesn’t even look back at the skinny bastard on the couch.

Skinny guy snorts. “Eh, we had some fundamental differences that we couldn’t compromise on.” He sees you walk in and looks up at you with oddly colored eyes; one blue, one brown. You think about how all eyejelly looks the same after you’ve squished it in your hand. “Sup. I’m Sollux.”

Karkat turns around and looks at you too. They want you to make conversation. You want to wrap your hand around this Sollux’s throat for talking to Karkat that way. You understand ‘friends’ are ‘allowed’ to do this sort of thing. You don’t care about that. “Gamzee.”

“Now that we’re all friends,” Karkat interjects, “let’s get drunk and watch a movie. To a filled apartment.”

You give a little nod and climb over the back of the couch to get comfortable. Since you go for the middle, with your legs stretched out to the scuffed up coffee table, Sollux has to fold up his legs to keep you from sitting on them. His knees stay up but he worms his toes under your thigh. You wonder how easily you could get him to swallow the digits. He stares at you. You stare back. Karkat’s in the kitchen getting the booze.

Maybe you should warn the guy. You smile. He doesn’t. “If you fuck up Karkat’s life,” you say, “I will skin you alive.”

He shifts oddly at that. Squirms in his seat like you just made him really uncomfortable, and he looks away from you. Perfect.

Karkat comes back with child beer and a movie suggestion. You agree to whatever he likes and Sollux only complains about a few choices. Karkat puts in the DVD as the doorbell rings. Your best friend goes rushing away, digging money from his pocket and muttering to himself.

“What would you do with it?”

You look at Sollux. He’s staring at you again. Does this motherfucker ever blink? “What?”

“With my skin. What would you do with it?”

You stare back at him for a while and then, after some consideration, you say one word. “Gloves.”

He smirks and takes a drink from his can of piss. You are certain you hear him mutter, “I can live with that.”

Karkat comes back with the large pizza. He puts it on your lap with a, “Don’t fucking scarf it all.” He sits on the couch beside you, knees nearly up to his chest, bottle in one hand and remote in the other.

“Pizza me,” Sollux says to you with his hand out, “And start the movie already KK.”

Karkat takes pizza and you give a slice to Sollux with a little smile. The three of you sit back as Karkat begins the DVD. “Now you two assholes be quiet, okay, and enjoy the fucking brilliance of Will fucking Smith.”

“Will fucking Smith, huh.” Sollux snarks from the side of you, talking with his mouth full. “How’s he different from regular Will Smith? Is it because you want to fuck him?”

“Sollux!”

You reach over and pat Karkat’s shoulder quickly, “Peace, my brother. Watch your movie.” He grumbles but settles back down, a bristling of brown eyed glares and growls. You turn your gaze to Sollux and he lifts his chin in defiance. Slipping your hand down, you wrap your fingers around his bony ankle and squeeze it. He doesn’t react, so you start bending it backwards until he shifts and hisses in pain. Karkat shooshes him, oblivious to your actions.

You let go of the skinny bastard’s ankle once he starts biting his lip so hard the flesh turns white. You sit back to watch the movie.

Sollux’s toes never move away from your thigh.


	2. Born in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sollux is a kinky little dude.

With each step down the street, your ankle throbs. It’s a dull sort of pain, like a muscle stretched too far or the day after you stub your toe really hard. It’s not like the sharp pain you get behind your eyes, in your head, nearly every day. You’re getting another one of those crushing headaches now, which is why you’ve decided to fuck out of class for the day and head home. Your backpack is an extra weight that your ankle just fucking hates so every step is like a spike of pain to remind you just how your stupid mouth gets you hurt.

Not even the heavy, solid weight of the switchblade in your pocket makes you feel any better. Usually the grooved edges and the polished metal brings you some comfort when the world has decided to fuck you and dump you like a one night stand. It gives you a little power, a little control, when everything had gone for the worse. But not today.

No, today the reminder of your ankle, of the sheer strength that guy Gamzee has over you, is too strong. Even your little knife gives you no feeling of power, not in the face of his giant hand.

Aw fuck. You really need to stop thinking about him.

You stop on the street, stepping to the side to get out of the way of walkers, though they are few and far between, and push up your glasses to rub your face. You hadn’t been able to get that guy out of your head since you met him. His hands, his fucking hands. You bet he could crush windpipes like a grape in those hands. And those dark eyes. Even with the stupid clown make up he had eyes that made you want to defy him, just so you could get his attention. Stupid, stupid you.

Why the fuck did your roommate have to have a fucking giant as a best friend? It wasn’t fucking fair. You knew it was only a matter of time before you did something stupid and embarrassing, like moaning his name when you jacked off or start thinking you were actually dating him.

Yeah, that wasn’t a thing you wanted to do again. Not that it was your fault the first time, really, but it was just stupidly confusing.

“Don’t even have control of my stupid thoughts,” you mutter to yourself, fixing your glasses into place. You’re just about to start walking again when you notice something has splashed on the ground in front of you. Just a couple feet ahead of you is the small opening to an alley way.

And that, good god, was a splatter of fresh, wet blood.

You swallow heavily and put your hands into your pockets. You clutch your knife and take a few quick steps forward. Peering around the corner, all you can see is blood splatter, a dumpster, and the heels of a woman. After a second, you see a hand rising clutching a bat like a club, only to descend and send up a splattering of blood. You hear crying. It’s probably the woman.

Edging around the corner, you open your knife and inch closer while holding it down by your side. You have no fucking clue what’s happening, but as you round the edge of the dumpster, you get a pretty good idea of what.

A woman kneels on the ground, like she’s collapsed there. Her hands cover her mouth. A man is against the wall, mashed bloody and unrecognizable. Standing, holding the shoulder of the man’s shirt and with bat rising again, is Gamzee. His bat crashes into what was probably a head before. Blood splashes up again. The limp body twitches. The woman doubles over more. You moan.

You don’t realize you do until the woman looks up to see you and Gamzee, slowly, turns. The woman is on her feet and staggering towards you, “You have to stop him, you have to stop him. Stop him please! Call the police.” She grabs your shoulder, pulling on your backpack strap and your hoodie. Her voice starts rising from pathetic repetitive whimpers to loud crying. You know she’ll start shouting in a second. So you make a decision.

You jerk your knife wielding hand up. She shudders into shocked silence and stares down. Then she looks up in confusion. You twist the blade. You feel warm blood pouring out of her. She stumbles backwards. Her blue eyes look at you in confusion, shock. She puts her hand over her stomach. In the sunlight, the nametag on her chest gleams brightly. _Mrs. Aranea Nitram. Guidance Counselor_. You have no idea who she is or was or why she was there.

She collapses on the ground, bleeding out right in front of you. Her last words are a strangled, unintelligible mutter.  The blood on your hand, on the metal, seems too hot. Your shoulders sink and you distantly hear your backpack land on the ground with a thump.

You look up only to see Gamzee advancing on you. He’s lifting his bat up and glaring at you like you’re the devil and he’s the angel sent to smite you. You start backing away, but then your back is literally against the wall and you have nowhere to go between two large trash containers.  You swallow and say the only thing you can think of, “Well, she really didn’t see that coming.”

For some fucked up reason you don’t understand, that makes him lower his bat. Just a little. Just enough so you feel like you can breathe again. He looks at you, from head to toe, and then gets this weird smile that makes him look about three thousand times more menacing. He steps right up into your space and instead of bringing the bat crushing down against you, he brings it up between your legs.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment as, with the pressure of the bloodied bat against your crotch, you realize just how bad of a boner you have. He rubs the wood against you and you moan again. You can’t help it.

“Shhh,” he whispers, leaning in close. He puts two fingers to your lips, to keep you quiet. Then he does it again. Your back arches up off the wall as you try to push against the unforgiving hardness of the bat. You know you’re getting blood, and worse, on your pants, but that only makes it better somehow. “Just keep quiet now,” you can feel his breath on your cheek.

It gets harder to keep quiet as he rubs the bat against you. You try to bite your lip to stifle yourself, but it doesn’t help any. Then, he pushes too damn hard and your mouth drops open in a loud groan.

In a second, you have two bloody fingers in your mouth. You look up and your world is filled with his dark eyes, his painted face, his pleased, delighted smile.

You suck on his fingers.

You drop your knife to grab the bat with both hands, arching and twisting your hips to grind better against it. You suck on his fingers like your life depends on it, which it probably does, but also because you’d give just about anything right now to have his dick in your mouth instead.

You can’t stop the whimper you give when the bat shifts angles and pushes right up against your cock, instead of towards the base of it, and drives you into the wall. You hump it, knowing you probably look like a starved little slut for doing so, but there’s blood on your hands and on your pants and in your mouth and you can’t stop yourself. You’re not so sure you really want to.

When you try to look up at him again, his mouth is open and he’s panting. You can see the edge to his teeth and you turn your head, arching your neck for him.

You choke on your scream when he bites your neck hard enough for you to see spots. When he does it again, you arch off the wall, against the bat, and the spots become a white light.

It’s only after, when you’re kneeling on the ground, panting with an empty mouth and holding onto his leg for support, that you realize you just came from that. Fingers run through your short hair. You don’t have the strength to protest as he pulls your head back. You have officially lost control of what happens next and for once in your life, you aren’t terrified.

Because he doesn’t look down at you with eyes dark as death and harder than obsidian. He smiles warmly at you and urges your face towards his own pants. With fumbling fingers, you get his pants open and pull out his cock. He doesn’t even have to push you down on it. You willingly suck and lick, scooting closer on your knees.

He bends over you, one hand on the wall and the other on your head. With bloody fingers, you stroke whatever part of his cock that you can’t get into your mouth. He doesn’t take too long, to your surprise, nor does he try to force himself down deeper into your throat. He doesn’t warn you though, either. Somehow, someway, you can just tell he’s ready.

At the last second, you pull him out and open your mouth. You’ve never felt quite so dirty after giving a blowjob, with his spunk on your cheek and glasses, but then, you’ve never tasted blood and cum together either.

You wipe your hand over your mouth and look up at him. He crouches down to your level and looks you right in the eye. “I thought a motherfucker was going to have to up and slaughter a skinny little bastard, but you’re not fucking half bad.”

Your stomach squirms at the thought of him killing you. You flush red again and say, “Well at least I know you wouldn’t put my skin to waste.”

He actually leans in and kisses you, right on the mouth. Out of the killing and groping and sucking, that is what surprises you the most. You squeak and for a second don’t return the action. Then you’re kissing him back a little too eagerly, probably. But he just chuckles against your lips and says, “You’re not motherfucking bad at all. C’mon. Let’s go clean up and talk some shit over. You good to stand?”

You lick your lips and nod. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good.”

He helps you to your feet. You’re surprised how gentle his massive hands can be as they pull on your arm. “Motherfucking right about that.”


	3. A Family Gift

It’s nice and dark outside.

CG: AND HE HAD THE FUCKING NERVE TO JUST LOOK AT ME AND SAY NAH I’D RATHER YOU CUT MY ARMS AND LEGS OF WITH A CHAINSAW. LIKE HE CAN’T NOT BE IRONIC AT LEAST ONCE IN HIS LIFE. I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT ERIDAN HAS THE TOLERANCE FOR HIS SHIT, I MEAN IT’S LIKE THINKING THAT SUPER FABULOUS ASSHOLE THAT ALWAYS SNIFFS THE AIR LIKE IT IS PERSONALLY OFFENDING HIM BECOMES ROOMMATES WITH THE MOST FLATULANT MAN IN EXISTANCE.

It’s cold too. Cold and dark and entirely too pleasing. You’ve gotten a nice buzz going on.

TC: thought that motherfucker had an issue with chainsaws  
TC: didn’t he up and nearly chop off his own leg or something? i don’t motherfucking remember

The streetlight above you is like a golden beam from the heavens. If you close your eyes you can pretend that it’s a tunnel of light to shine on your soul.

CG: NO THAT WAS ERIDAN. STRIDER WAS THE ONE BEING ‘IRONIC’. ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING PAYING ATTENTION TO ME? ANYWAY ERIDAN SWEARS IT WAS BECAUSE HE’S LEFT HANDED AND THE STUPID CHAINSAW WAS FOR RIGHTIES, BUT WHO THE FUCK HEARS ABOUT A CHAINSAW TAKING OFF SOMEONES LEG JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE LEFT HANDED? HE’S SO FUCKING DENSE.  
CG: I’M ACTUALLY SURPRISED THAT YOU REMEMBER ANY OF THAT, EVEN INCORRECTLY, GIVEN THE WAY YOU DON’T REMEMBER FUCK ALL THESE DAYS.

A guy walks up, leans in close and mumbles to you. He hands you a wad of cash and you shake his hand. The drugs you have slip into his palm and he thanks you. He pulls up his coat around himself as he walks off.

You hear thunder overhead.

TC: of course i remember  
TC: the douche was your friend before he got that motherfucking rod up his ass  
TC: and moved in with that lying motherfucker

The thunder is followed by a flash of lighting so bright that the streetlight flickers. You blink against it and see spots in green and blue for a while. When you look up, you see the skinny outline of a guy across the street. You got one more bag on you to sell, so you look up at him.

CG: AT LEAST SOMEONE PRETENDS TO CARE ABOUT MY SOCIAL LIFE.  
CG: HE’S RUINING WHATEVER SENSE HE HAD LEFT BY DOING THAT. BEFORE YOU KNOW IT HIS HIPSTER ACT WILL BECOME AN IRONIC SHITFEST AND THE TWO OF THEM WILL CREATE A SINGULARITY THAT WILL SUCK UP ALL SINCERITY IN THE STATE AND PISS IT OUT AS A GLITTERING RAINBOW OF THEIR DOUCHEBAG PRETENTIOUSNESS.  
CG: WE WILL DROWN BECAUSE OF THEIR ‘IRONY’.  
CG: BUT AT LEAST I DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH HIS INSANITY ON A DAILY BASIS. MY NEW ROOMMATE IS PLENTY STRANGE FOR THAT.

He looks familiar. It’s hard to tell from across the street. But you’re sure you’ve met him somewhere before, somewhere where it meant something. It’s hard to remember. He couldn’t have bought anything from you, no, it had to be more meaningful than that.

TC: you mean sollux the skinny motherfucker  
TC: what has he been doing?  
TC: has he said anything to upset you

The guy across the street is just staring at you. He takes a step or two to the side, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He looks too skinny to be a cop and to calm to be a junkie. There’s an alley behind him.

CG: DUDE DOESN’T SAY SHIT.   
CG: HE IS EITHER SITTING ON HIS BONY ASS MUTTERING TO HIMSELF WITH HIS FINGERS MOVING A THOUSAND MILES A SECOND WHILE HE CHUGS DOWN ANOTHER BOTTLE OF THAT PISS HE CALLS AN ENERGY DRINK OR HE’S OUT OF THE HOUSE.  
CG: AND WHEN I MEAN OUT OF THE HOUSE I MEAN LIKE HE’S OUT ALL FUCKING NIGHT AND COMES HOME DIRTY AND DRUNK OR HIGH AS A FUCKING KITE CAUSE HE GIGGLES TO HIMSELF LIKE A MANIAC AND SHOWERS FOR A WHOLE FUCKING HOUR WASTING ALL OUR GOOD HOT WATER ON HIS SCRAWNY SELF.  
CG: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HE’S DOING OUT ALL NIGHT, BUT IF HE COMES HOME AT ONE THIRTY IN THE MORNING AGAIN AND WAKES ME UP WITH HIS MANIA WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A SERIOUS TALK SO I CAN FIND OUT WHAT KIND OF SHIT HE’S INTO AND FIND OUT IF IT’S THE KIND OF SHIT THAT IS WORTH KEEPING HIM AROUND TO HELP PAY RENT OR IF I SHOULD TRY MY LUCK WITH THAT SWEATY BRONY ASSHOLE.  
CG: I HAVE A FEELING I’M NOT GOING TO LIKE WHAT I FIND OUT.  
CG: THEN AGAIN I NEVER FUCKING DO.

You’ve got that feeling deep in your gut. That feeling you get when you know you’re not going to sleep that night unless you got a little brain jelly between your fingers first. It’s a feeling that cuts through that buzz you have filling the back of your mind. So you head away from your shaft of light and towards the crosswalk.

It’s begun to rain.

TC: is the motherfucker in right now? 

A car passes in front of you. White lights reflect across the slick surface of the road.  It slows momentarily at the light, but when it switches green, it roars on past. The red lights gleam off of the glasses of the scrawny man.

CG: OF COURSE NOT. HE’S OUT AGAIN AND I KNOW HE’S GOING TO RETURN BACK HERE AT ONE IN THE MORNING. I CAN JUST FUCKING TELL.

You get half way across the crosswalk before the guy starts walking. He keeps ahead of you, but glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re following. If you speed up, so does he. So you settle back into a quick walk and let him lead you away.

TC: you should get some rest  
TC: maybe he won’t ever come back late again if a motherfucker just gives him a little talk  
TC: but if he does come in late it would probably be better if a motherfucker got as much rest as he could up and get until that time comes

He doesn’t put his coat collar up against the rain. He walks in it, chin down slightly, but his hands are jammed in his pockets. The rain is getting heavier and he’s getting drenched in it. You can see the outline of his legs. You remember those thighs squeezing your baseball bat.

CG: UGH. YOU MAY BE RIGHT JUST THIS ONCE. I’M NOT GOING TO SAY SO UNTIL IT IS PROVEN IN A COURT OF LAW.   
CG: SCRATCH THAT. IN THREE COURTS OF LAW. AND ON JUDGE JUDY.  
CG: BUT GOODNIGHT.

He’s got you walking down some suburb street. The pools of light are few and far between. Each time he walks under one, though, he hunches his shoulders just a little. Each time you walk under one, he turns his head just at the right time to see you.

TC: goodnight brother  
TC: have good dreams :o)

You stop at the end of a walk way that he’s turned to head up. He gets up to the front door, fiddles with something on his phone and then slips inside. The thunder rolls.

The rain pours down around you. Lightning flashes five seconds after he vanishes. You stand at the end of the junction where private and public sidewalk meet and watch.

For long minutes at a time, nothing but the rain and your breathing happens. You get soaked to the bone. The lights don’t go on, the lights don’t go off. There are no sounds of distress or of joy at his entering.

You hesitate because you are confused. You do not leave because you are curious. You do not enter because you are wary.

Eventually curiosity trumps and you go slinking up the front walk. The front door is unlocked. You push it in gently. The house is warm. Dry and warm and smells like dinner. Like roast and potatoes and overcooked broccoli.

You hear a soft whimpering noise so you carefully make your way through the kitchen where the roast sits on the counter. It’s carved, half gone, and smells delicious. You make it through to the dining room next. There sits the half-finished meal. A pitcher has been knocked over and red juice has flooded the table and drips onto the floor.

It’s the only sign of disturbance.

In the next room, the living room you suppose, you find a delightful surprise. Trussed up in the middle of the room, like three plump pigs ready to be slaughtered, are three people. You assume them to be the owners of this house. There’s blood on the floor already, around the head of the man.

And there stands Sollux, one hand holding the end of a bat and the other holding a knife. He smiles when you step into the room, straightening up from where he’s leaning against the arm of a chair. “You came!”

He gestures to the people with the knife, “This is okay, right? I wanted to make sure I got it right. You said they couldn’t know, they had to be totally unaware. Well they were in the middle of dinner, I mean you can’t get more unaware than that.”

He looks so hopeful. That smile looks strange on his mouth, but you think it might only be strange because of the way it makes your cock stir. It didn’t usually do that. He’s holding out the bat to you. “This is okay, right?”

His hands are shaking, you realize. And the hope in his face is covering a deep anxiousness. Fear. Not of you, but of disappointing you.

“You been doing this a lot, motherfucker?” you take a step towards him.

The woman is weeping with her face pressed into the floor.

Sollux nods up at you. The shaking of his hand lessens. “I’ve been practicing. I listened to what you said, but I wanted to bring you my biggest catch. To prove myself.” He smiles, but he bites his bottom lip doing it. He can barely contain himself.

The man blinks like he can’t figure out what the fuck is going on.

You reach out and take the end of the bat from him. He’s rocking on his heels. “It wasn’t a fluke the first time. I don’t want you to think it was just a onetime deal. I want to do this with you. I want to do this and a whole lot more with you.”

The little preteen girl looks up at the both of you with big, green eyes. She’s crying.

You pull him close, using the bat to do so. He stumbles up to you. You catch him by the throat, but keep your fingers gentle. “You have got to stop coming home late at night and waking up my best friend. A little motherfucker needs his rest and you’ve been up and interrupting him.”

“Yeah,” he nods his head. “Yeah okay. Maybe I can stay at your place on the nights we do this together.” He pauses and then whispers, “Cause we are going to keep doing this together, right?”

You kiss him. Hard.

You bite his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth and you make him gasp and you make him kiss you back. His knees shake and force him to lean into you. He moans loudly.

Taking the bat from his grip entirely, you run the handle he had just been holding onto up the inside of his thigh. You love the way that makes him shudder. When you pull back from the kiss, you say, “We need to hurry up with this. If we stay in these wet clothes too long we’ll get sick.”

He grins at you. “I got them for you, so you go first.”

You give him another kiss that leaves him stumbling back towards the armchair for support. He pants while you advance on the family. You’ve had just about enough of those green, green eyes staring up at you from the floor.

She doesn’t flinch when you bring the bat crashing down against her head. You’re impressed, but you’ll never say it. Stupid, naïve little girls didn’t impress you all that much in the end.


	4. Sound of Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sollux and Gamzee celebrate Christmas in their own special way.

_ Chestnuts roasting on an open fire _

“Again!? You do this every fucking year!” The woman’s voice is shrill and loud enough to go through the door.

The replying voice is too soft, muffled by the wall. Gamzee looks sidelong at you and lifts his finger to his lips. The two of you share a smile.

_Jack frost nipping at your nose ;_

The Christmas music hums through the wall behind the two of you. You stand in the hallway, quiet and patient. Gamzee gets a little bored and leans in, kissing your cheek. He nibbles your ear.

“I’m not falling for it again, Damara. I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough.”

A heartbeat of near silence. _Yuletide carols being sung by a choir and folks dressed up like eskimos._ The reply is hidden by old Nat King Cole. This song really captures the spirit of Christmas. Gamzee hums along absently as he steps away from you, away from the wall. You don’t know how he knows when to move, you’ve always been quick, not patient. Enter, surprise, incapacitate; that’s how you had taught yourself. You’re  weaker than you look, though Gamzee’s been helping you work on that.

 _Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright! _ The music behind you is being accompanied now by a voice singing along. It sounds kind of pretty.

“We’re going. We will be with my fucking mother. Yes. Her. Don’t you call her the batter witch! Like you have anything better to say about your own fucking mother! I should have listened to mine about you years ago!” You hear heavy footsteps, but they’re faint in comparision to the music. The music has risen several digits in volume and now makes the wall vibrate. _Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight!_

The door to the inner bedroom bangs open. A tall woman with long braids of black hair takes two steps out before Gamzee’s bat arches away from him, away from the wall, and catches her across the forehead. She staggers, shouts, “What the fuck?” and turns to see him.

 _They know that Santa’s on his way. _ Gamzee’s smile is perfection. It makes your heart race to see it on his face. He takes another step and a graceful arch brings the bat down against the crux of shoulder and neck. The woman slumps down to her knees with a choking sound.

Suddenly the door pops open again. Another woman with fiery red hair and with wisps of smoke still drifting from her mouth, steps out. She gapes at Gamzee, “You’re-.” Then her eyes drop down to the woman who has collapsed to the floor, “Meenah!” She lunges towards Gamzee. _ He’s loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh._

He slams her in the gut with a fist and she scratches at him, down his arm. She screams and throws a wild punch for his face. He jerks back. His huge hands knock her to the side, into the wall. His grin only grows broader. She hits the wall hard enough that a picture frame rattles and nearly falls. As she regains her composure, he swings the bat into the side of her head.

He hits too hard because blood splatters the wall and her eyes go from seeing to dying as she slumps down to the ground. 

_And every mother’s child is going to spy, to see if reindeer really know how to fly. _ The music, for a moment, becomes very clear. You glance back and see the bedroom door to the girl, some teenager with long black hair and pretty eyes behind pink glasses, peer through a crack. She squeaks and shuts the door quickly. You grip the handle and twist it before she can lock it, though. She’s strong, stronger than you are, and you start losing your grip. “GZ!”

He’s at your side in a moment. _And so I’m offering this simple phrase to kids from one to ninety-two, _ His huge hand closes over yours and he twists the knob until there’s a crunching sound. He pushes the door open against the girl. It gives way all at once, though and the two of you stumble in. _although it’s been said, many times, many ways, _ She’s scrambling towards her bed, heading for the window. You see the metal outside the window that tells of a fire escape. _ Merry Christmas, _Gamzee moves past you, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her hard enough that she breaks a nail on the window sill. She scrabbles at the blankets, screaming. Nat King Cole drowns her out. _to you._

 _And so I’m offering this simple phrase, _ She hits the floor with a thump. Gamzee grunts and begins to drag her into the hallway. She looks up at you, begins to plead. Or at least you think so. _to kids from one to ninety-two, _ Her mouth is moving but you can’t hear her over the music. _although it’s been said, _ You’re the one who sees the phone as she grabs for it from the floor. You kick her hand, but she doesn’t give it up. _many times, many ways, _ You stop Gamzee with an upheld hand and pull out your knife. You bend down and don’t have to do more than start sliding the blade across her thumb, digging into her flesh, before she screams and drops the phone. Gamzee finishes dragging her into the hall. You shut the door behind them. _Merry Christmas, to you._

She doesn’t stop screaming so Gamzee backhands her hard enough to make her face snap to the side and daze her. He grunts and looks over the three women. Then he looks up at you. You see pleasure in his smile and truth in his eyes. You step over the teen and grab the front of his shirt tightly, “Can we skin one?”

He tilts his head to the side, thoughtfully stroking your cheek. “Absolutely.”

With a breathless, happy giggle, you kiss him sharply on the lips.

The two of you drag the three of them into the larger bedroom. There are some clothes tossed around and the dresser is open with clothing hanging out of the drawers. Off to the side, on the dresser with the mirror is a bong. Gamzee pulls the braindead woman onto the bed first and says, looking down at her, “I thought she was motherfucking familiar. She’s one of my customers.”

“Yeah?” you say, “She doesn’t look like it.” You look down at her again. She’s wearing a shorter dress than a woman of her age normally would and no shirt. Her bra is black and lacy. “Well, maybe she does. Hard to tell.”

“Figured she was a motherfucking whore this whole time.” He mutters to himself. “Get her stripped. I’ll brain the other two before they wake.” You nod and climb onto the bed beside her.

A few precise slashes of your sharp knife and she’s naked as the day she was born. She’s in good shape, even though she’s older than you and Gamzee. You look up to see him smashing in the head of the other adult woman with that calm look on his face.

With a careful hand and deft knife, you slice a pattern over the woman’s chest. Today you’re feeling a little like Tron, so long lines stretching out over her body like a seam suit you best. Bit by bit, you peel strips of her flesh away, throwing them over your shoulder and onto the floor as you reveal her muscles beneath.

You suddenly notice a little hitching breath of her chest. Her eyelids flicker but there’s no sense in her eyes. She doesn’t, or isn’t able to, make a sound. You smile and bend back to your work.

When you’re finishing the last ring around her ankle you lift your head. Gamzee’s sitting on the floor with the woman’s bong in one bloody hand and the floor is splattered in red and meat. He waves his fingers at you and gives you a lazy smile, “Motherfucking beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks flush red and lift a hand to fix your glasses. Blood smears across your cheek. “You think so? I’ve been practicing my detail work.”

Gamzee lumbers up to his feet, used bong left on the floor, and climbs onto the end of the bed. He cups your face with his large hands and leans in, “Motherfucker, I’m talking about you. Though you have gotten better at slicing them up. Look at all those thin little motherfucking lines.”

You glance down at the lines, a the woman and smile, “She’s lovely.”

“Mmm,” Gamzee leans in and kisses you on the corner of your mouth, “She’s nothing compared to you.” You give him a fleeting smile and kiss him back when he comes in for another. Mindful of the knife in your hand, you put your arms around his neck and kiss him eagerly. He brushes aside the woman’s body easily and then lays you down where she was, in the blood.

Gamzee reaches a hand up and pulls down one of yours. He takes your knife from you easily, because you willingly give it to him, and continues to kiss you down onto the bloody blankets. You shiver when you feel the bloody tip run down the edge of your throat and along the exposed part of your collarbone. He slips the blade under the cloth and cuts away at your shirt, scratching your skin lightly as he does.

Your breath comes faster and faster the more of your shirt he slices away, the more of your skin he scratches. Soon your chest is bare and you can feel cool air against your skin, stinging the cuts. Gamzee hums under his breath as he uses the tip of the blade lightly across your abdomen. You glance down and see him writing his name in your skin. You lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry. This one doesn’t look deep enough to scar, but the sight alone makes the scar on the outside of your thigh throb in sympathetic pain. It was deep enough there.

He glances up at you through dark lashes as he slides the flat of the blade down across your stomach and towards your jeans. The button doesn’t stand a chance against the sharp edge of your knife. Soon he’s cutting the cloth into strips and peeling it back like the rind of an orange. Your hardening cock juts out, pushing up the front of your boxers.

Catching the thin cloth on the blade, he gives it a quick yank and tears it open. You whimper as the cool metal moves along the underside of your cock. You bite your lip as the knife cuts away the cloth from your inner thighs and lines of red slice across your skin.

Your breath comes quickly. Your heart beats even faster than that. You grip the bloody comforter and lift your head and shoulders up enough to watch what he is doing.

He lifts the blade over his head and, staring up at you, brings it down in a quick, unfaltering arch.

You don’t even blink as the blade imbeds itself between your legs, just an inch below your balls.

You moan.

Gamzee dips his head down and kisses along your thigh. His tongue is warm and wet as he licks across the scratches that bead up with blood. His mouth moves up your leg to your hip and from your hip to your cock. He lavishes you with attention from his hands and mouth.

You eagerly cant your hips up into his mouth, into his touch. He hums around your cock and you groan in pleasure as you feel the back of his throat.

Your cock comes out of his mouth with a wet pop. You lay, panting, on the bed and open your mouth to give your bottom lip some respite from being bitten.

Distantly you hear the knife get tugged out of the mattress and stabbed into something fleshy. You glance down to see the handle sticking out of the hip of the woman who’s bare back is to you. She has nice hair. It reminds you of a girl you tried to marry years ago. You can’t remember her name.

You can’t remember anything at all right now. Your mind pounds from that headache you can’t get rid of properly and from the blood rushing everywhere in your body. You tremble, feeling slick, strong fingers pushing at your entrance. You open your legs to Gamzee and, once more, give him everything that he doesn’t even have to ask for anymore.

His fingers don’t stretch you for long, there’s hardly any need, with the way you two behave. Hardly a day goes by without some sort of sex. You pride yourself in being able to take him anywhere, any time. There are few things you do as well as that.

Gamzee’s hands lift you up and pull you close. He slides into you and it’s a familiar hardness that fills you completely. He pushes into you again and again, breaking you open and putting you together again with each thrust. You drown yourself in everything that he is. His bloodied hands hold you against his body and his mouth swallows yours in kiss after kiss. You twist your bony fingers in his long dark hair and every time you feel his hips flush against your body, you cry out his name.

Suddenly, his mouth is gone and you’re cold and alone. “The fuck?” You push yourself up on your elbows and look down. Gamzee’s sliding off the bed. He yanks the knife out of the woman’s hip.

“Motherfucker woke up,” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. You hiss softly as you push yourself up to a sitting position. The teenager is crawling along the floor. Her hair is matted with blood and her back and legs are just as stained red.

You lick your lips. “GZ, carve me out a bee from her skin.”

He laughs and nods his head. His shoes squish in the bloody carpet as he walks across the room. He grabs her by her hair and yanks her back over the floor. “Hello, hello little motherfucker. Where do you think you’re up and worming off to? Nothing down that hallway except a little motherfucking Christmas album playing on repeat.”

“P-please-,” Or at least that’s what you think you hear her say. “D-don’t!”

He pins her with a knee to her shoulder and bends to his work. You hear the girl make gargling noises and watch as her legs kick on the floor. The sound of the knife cutting through her flesh makes you shiver and groan.

Gamzee comes walking back with fresh blood on his hand and a flushed, erect cock. He twirls the blade around and around and stabs it back into the dead woman beside you. With his hands cupped together, he presents you a slab of skin in the shape of a cartoon bee, wings and stinger included. There’s a small smiley face on the face of the bee. “Ahh!” You scoop it up and touch the little smile. “It’s perfect. O-oh!”

He wraps his hand around your cock and grins, leaning in towards you. “Now where did we motherfucking leave off?”

You put the bee off to the side and when you touch his face you get a little blood on his cheek. He kisses you and pushes you back against the bed, you go willingly. You squirm into his lap and sigh happily when his cock slides back into your body.

The force he uses makes the bed begin to squeak underneath you. At one point the cooling body of your victim rolls onto her back and with a snarl, and mid thrust, Gamzee grabs her by the neck and thigh and throws her bodily off the bed and crashing into a bookcase. Watching his skin ripple over his muscles sends you gladly over the edge.

There’s no tender moment of waiting for you to finish, oh no, Gamzee rides you through your orgasm and into his own. You wouldn’t have it any other way. When he’s spent, he collapses atop you. His weight is heavy on your body, but he’s warm and smells so good. You run your fingers through his hair, brush it out of his face, and kiss him languidly.

He kisses you lightly back, along your mouth and neck. He chuckles when you nip at his ear.

A jarring musical piece breaks through your afterglow. Gamzee pushes himself up onto his elbow and digs a hand into his pocket. He pulls out his phone, blaring the intro to the Fresh Prince and you roll your eyes. He flips the phone open and puts it to his ear, “Hey best friend.”

“Hey buttmunch, where the fuck are you? You’re going to be late to being early to my Christmas party!” You can hear Karkat from where you’re lying. “Get your ass over here. And is Captor with you? What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Just about to get motherfucking cleaned up, best friend. We’ll come over as soon as we can.”  Gamzee shifts above you. You have to bite your lower lip to keep from moaning when he pulls out of you. “Need a motherfucker to pick up anything on our way out?”

“Yeah. Bring a lot of booze. His imperial prince of assholes brought over his smarmy boyfriend and I swear I will end up throttling the both of them if I can’t drown them in vodka first.”

Gamzee sits up on the bed. You roll off with a sigh and shuck off the rest of your torn pants. You retrieve your knife from the woman’s body against the wall and clean the blade on the scrap of jeans that remain from your pants. He finishes up talking with Karkat and then hangs up. “Find some clothes to change into and join me in the shower motherfucker.” He trots off to the master bath.

You hear water running in the next few seconds. You go to the closet and rummage through the things in there until you find, to your surprise, an interesting little outfit.

You take it. You rummage through the dresser drawers for underwear but everything’s thongs or the equivalent in lace. With an annoyed sigh, you leave the outfit on the top of the dresser and head back into the teen’s room. In there you find several tastefully cute panties and, after picking a pair of pink ones, you take half of the rest and put it in the bag by the front door.

By the time you actually join Gamzee in the shower, he’s mostly done. Still, he stays to wash the blood from your back and your hair and to give you more than a dozen heady kisses in the hot water. He climbs out naked and goes to get the bleach. You finish washing out his clothes and roll them up in towels to dry them out.

When you’re done, you dry off, dress in the stolen panties and are shimmying into the short skirt when Gamzee comes walking back into the bathroom. He stops in the doorway, looks at you, and gives you a lopsided smile. You get the top on and then strike a pose, “In the name of the moon I shall punish you!”

Gamzee, your uneducated love, blinks at you. His eyes keep going to your thigh. You turn your side to face him and put your hands on your hips, “Villain, you’re not worth my time anyway.” You know he can see the first three letters of his name on your leg.

He comes into the bathroom, bleach in hand still, and leans in close to you. “It’s cute. Motherfucking miraculous choice there.”

You flip up the front of the skirt and say, “The panties match.”

That catches his interest and for the next few minutes the two of you scramble around the bathroom while you try to pretend to be avoiding his groping hand and he laughs as he chases you around. Eventually he gets you cornered between wall and door and kisses you breathless, his hand down the front of the panties. He yanks them down and brings you off with his hand on your cock and his mouth at your neck.

You’re a shuddering, satiated mess when he pushes your panties back up and leans in close again. He seals your mouths together in a hot kiss and you feel his hard cock rubbing up against you, from the other side of the thin cloth. You moan and spread your legs for him.

But he surprises you. He steps back, panting and flushed in his face and his dick. You lick your lips and through the haze of pleasure you somehow manage to recognize his expression. “You’re such an ass to yourself,” you pant out, “But thanks for not being one to me.”

He winks and hands you the bleach. “Clean out the tub. I’ll start the motherfucking lines of fire.”

You shake your head as you see him walk out of the bathroom, grabbing up his damp clothes while he goes. You’ll never quite understand why he cockblocks himself so damn much, but if it was what he wanted to do, you weren’t going to argue with him. At least not when you were in such a good mood.

You fill the tub with water, put half the bottle of bleach in it, and then let it start draining. You pour more on the floor, wherever you and Gamzee might have lost any DNA. In the bedroom you bleach the comforter where you had lain down.

He comes in, dressed in his wet clothes, and is lining the walls in gasoline. He drenches the bodies and the bed and throws the nearly empty can into the bathroom. “Ready?”

“Yeah,”  you cough at the fumes and follow him out. He grabs the bag by the door but then stops suddenly.

“Fuckin forgot the booze,” he hands you the bag and goes into the kitchen. He comes back with armfuls of bottles and puts them in the bag. He shoulders that, takes your hand in his, and leads you out of the apartment.

The hallway is cooler than the little apartment and you can hear the Christmas music still.

Gamzee lights a match and flicks it down to the gasoline line near the door. When it catches, he shuts the door and the two of you walk.

Against your nearly bare legs, the air is pretty damn cold. You’re shivering by the time you make it down to ground level, on the street. Gamzee’s arm around you is only a little comfort because his clothing is wet as fuck. “Let’s hurry,” you say through chattering teeth. “I’m freezing my ass off as it is.”

He laughs and picks up the pace.

You two are a block away when you hear the first sirens.

* * *

“It’s about fucking time!” The door is going to be ripped off its hinges one of these days, with the force that Karkat opens it every damn time. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He looks at Gamzee, shivering and still wet with the bag over his shoulder. He looks at you, in your sailor scout outfit and shivering. “Does this look like a Halloween party? Why the fuck are you dressed like that Sollux?”

Gamzee unzips the bag and pulls out a clear bottle. “We just came back from a booze and panty raid.”

“Panty-,” Karkat takes the bottle that Gamzee shoves into his hand and steps back to let you both in. There are about eight other people around the place, each giving their own greetings. “The fuck do you mean panty raid?”

Gamzee looks at you and you shrug.  He unzips the bag and shows the contents to Karkat. Booze and panties. Karkat’s face goes from very pale and surprised to blushing like crazy. He shoves the bag shut. “Don’t show that! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

You laugh and slip between them, getting another bottle. “I’ll get us cups GZ,” you murmur, leaving Karkat ranting at your lover.

You discover ‘his imperial prince of assholes’ in the kitchen with his ‘smarmy boyfriend’. They’re standing in the corner with each other, kissing and ignoring the world. You roll your eyes at them and get a couple of glasses. Pouring the drinks for you and Gamzee, you get a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Hey, Sailor Scout.”

You look over your shoulder. It’s smarmy boyfriend addressing you. “Yeah?”

“Are you the party’s entertainment? Cause I forgot my singles in my other pants.”  He smirks. Imperial Prince snickers against his throat.

You flush a little. “Fuck you.” You grab the drinks and head out.

“Maybe later, toots! I’ve been trying to get Bubbles here into a threesome…” Imperial Prince laughs drunkenly at his boyfriend’s words while he simultaneously slaps his shoulder and tells him to shut up.

A shadow passes over you. A large hand curls around your arm protectively. You look up to see Gamzee staring hard at the two of them in the corner. They stare defiantly back. “Can I help you with something?” Smarmy boyfriend asks with a lift of his eyebrows.

You recognize the look in Gamzee’s eyes. If the two of you hadn’t killed already today, and hardly an hour ago, those large hands you love would be wrapped around that slim little neck. You bite the inside of your cheek and nudge Gamzee’s side with your hand. He looks down at you. You give a little shrug and mouth the words, _later some time? Next week?_

He leans down and kisses you, hard. He bites your lip and you have to slide a foot back to brace yourself as you let him kiss you. When he pulls back, he whispers like a prayer across your lips, “Motherfucking perfect little miracle you are.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the kitchen.

The two of you settle on the couch, him sprawled on the corner and you sitting in his lap. A Christmas movie of some sort was playing, but only Gamzee was paying attention. The rest of the party goers were talking and drinking, laughing and playing card games. Eventually his Imperial Prince of Assholes and Smarmy Boyfriend made it back out of the kitchen.

You paid almost no attention to the party itself. You procured a handheld game from your room to play while sitting with Gamzee. You leveled up your pokemon team up while Gamzee watched the movie and traced the scar on your thigh, the one of his name.

 


	5. In the Room Full of Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Jake English has been searching for the identities to the perpetrator of these brutal, vicious serial killings for almost two years. Luckily they've been so varied that not too many people have caught on that they are serial murders. With the help of his new partner, Vriska Serket, maybe he can get some new headway on old ground.

Glass crunched under your feet as you stepped carefully through the little apartment. It was like the last one, scorched walls, burnt carpet, and bodies that were more char than flesh. You held a cloth to your mouth and nose, to keep the worst of the smell of death and burned gasoline.

Your new partner stood a few feet away, hands on her hips and her shiny black boots on the glass. She seemed unbothered by the stench. “You know,” you say, getting her attention. Vivid blue eyes pierce you like a lance through the heart, but they soften when she recognizes you. “I’ve been doing this job for years and I still can’t seem to get used to the smell. You’ve only been around homicide for a couple of months and you’re not bothered by it?”

She lets out a short laugh, “You think I never ran across a body in Narcotics?” She walks over to the husk of what was once a bed. “They don’t always go straight to your department, English.” With her gloved hand, she picks up something from the bed, grimaces at it and puts it back.

You walk over to a dresser and pick up a picture frame. The glass was smokey and cracked from the heat but you could still see the picture behind if you wiped away the residue. Two men smile up from inside the frame, one blonde and one with dark reddish hair and a purple stripe at the front of it. You can’t help but wonder about them. How did they spend their last Christmas together? Putting the frame down, you look up, “Do we have enough to ID them?”

The coroner, a woman with red hair and a quick smile, looks up from where she’s kneeling on the ground. “If we’re lucky. I won’t know for sure until I get them back to the morgue and cut them open. But I’d hazard to guess that it’s like the last ones we found and this is their apartment. They are certainly the right size and shape of two adult males.”

“How did they die?” That’s your partner.

“I won’t know that for certain until I get inside.” She shakes her head, “Sorry guys.”

“It’s fine. Thanks Aradia.” She flashes you a smile.

Over walks your partner. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, “English, I think this is that same perp from that last fire two weeks ago.”

You nod. “Definitely.”

She gestures and the two of you step over to the wall by yourselves for a moment. She lowers her voice, “I have a… a hunch.” She glances around. The think you’ve learned about Vriska Serket is that she was intensely paranoid about her work. You figured years of undercover work did that to someone. “I got a hunch that there are two of them, two serial killers who joined together.”

You frown a little. “That’s very uncommon. It’s more likely that they would fight each other than joining together.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she leans in. You see that flicker in her eyes. It’s the same one she had when she told you who she was and why she was joining you and why she would not give up on this serial killer. “Unless they became lovers too.”

You blink in surprise. “Are you certain… The profile doesn’t fit a couple pair…Could a woman be this callous?”

She laughs, “Don’t be stupid! Of course a woman could. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Oh no. This is two men, who are lovers, who got together not too long ago. That’s why that MO changed for two of the killers, that’s why they’re evolving now and torching things. Do you know how hard it is to get semen off a bedcover and guarantee no one is going to be able to get the DNA? Bleach could, but you might miss a patch. But fire, fire will take up the whole blanket, the sheets underneath and the mattress.”

“Are you suggesting…” you feel a little queasy. You still remember the first house of the suspected victims of this pair of killers. There had been so much blood everywhere… “You’re suggesting that they fucked on the bed? After they killed these people.”

“Something like that.” She hunches her shoulders, her hands dug deep in her pockets. “Look, the bed is fried. Completely burnt up. Sure the fire marshal may say that the point of origin was pretty much fucking everywhere but is there any doubt that there was a ton of incendiary poured on there? I have no idea how the frame is even still standing.”

You look at the room. The bed is mostly ash and wires from the springs. It’s a horrifying concept but…  “If they get off on this bloodshed.... they’re never going to stop until they’re caught.”

She nodded.

“Detective English?” You turn around to see an officer. “Sir, we got the security tapes ready to bring in.” You sigh and nod. You head over to the man. Vriska follows, you hear her muttering quietly behind you, “It’ll be blank again…”

* * *

You remember the first time you met Vriska.

You’d been sitting on the floor, surrounded by files and pictures, on your fifth cup of coffee and feeling like a jackass for having spent all night on this and not having come up with anything and thus leaving your wife home alone for nothing. You had felt awful, sleep deprived and upset and you just couldn’t see a connection between these killings. You knew there had to be one, but you just couldn’t see it.

She had walked in, wearing those black boots that you swear she shined every morning, and two coffees. She gave you yours, looked down from above and then said. “Something’s not right.”

You drank the coffee while she walked a circle around them. She stopped to look at a few, but only one made her frown. She took a deep breath, walked back over to you and said, “You have too many unconnected files. Some of these are just muggings gone wrong, but some of them are more brutal. How far back did you go?”

“About six years,” you reply tiredly, “Pulled out every unsolved back alley murder. After that school counselor got killed my Captain said my pet project was now my priority. I’ll find the son of a bitch who did this.”

There was something vicious in the way she smiled, “I think we’re going to get along fine, English. I’m your new partner by the way.” She offered her hand.

You shook it, “You are? It’s about damn time that you got here. I’ve been going a little stir crazy waiting on my own.” You gesture to the pile of files as if she needed anymore proof.

“Vriska Serket,” She replies with that same smile. You think if spiders could smile, it would look something like that. “Sorry about the wait. I had to get transferred in from Narcotics. Paperwork and politics, right?”

You nod. “Absolutely.”

She’d helped you to your feet and you felt fresh energy come through you as she began to pour over the files with you. The ones that you had been unsure about she approached with a clear decisiveness. The files you had been pouring over for over a year were shaped into an actual case with the two of you working on it.

It wasn’t until later that you realized why she approached this daunting project that had cost you your last partner, and why she approached it with such fervor.

Aranea Serket was her sister.


	6. Cardinal Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking Gamzee's cardinal rule comes with dire consequences.

The smell of food cooking filled the kitchen. You sat in the corner on the counter, legs dangling over the edge and watched your lover cook. He wore an apron that said _Honk if you’re Hungry :o)_. The pan before him sizzled, the meat and vegetables cooking together. He hummed as he worked, stirring with a spoon and adding pinches of spices as he cooked. Periodically, he would lean over and lift his chin.

You would lean in and kiss him lightly, smiling against his lips. “Smells delicious.”

“You always say this,” he murmurs.

“It’s always true.”

He laughs and goes back to cooking.

You smile and watch him. The two of you began this little tradition of making dinner together not too long ago. It was a way that kept Karkat from getting too jealous. Gamzee was always cautious around him, so protective of him. Sometimes you could still remember the way he grabbed your ankle, months ago now, because of how you acted towards Karkat.

So the two of you made dinner, and hung out with him, even though you never thought  you’d be the kind of guy to hang out with your lover and their best friend at home all the  time. It seemed like the activity of a loser. But Gamzee always smiled more when you did and you had to admit, Karkat was growing on you.

When the door to the apartment opens, Gamzee begins serving the stirfry into the bowls on the table. You hop down to go pester Karkat into the kitchen. He’s standing by the front door, though, facing the hooks he uses to hang is coat on, and isn’t moving.

He sniffles and shrugs off his coat. You see him bite his lower lip in pain. “KK?”

He jumps and turns around quickly, eyes wide like a frightened child. Usually a look like that stirs something inside of you that suggests that cutting out their eyes would be fantastic. With him, though, it’s different. “Gamzee!” You turn to call.

You hurry over to Karkat but he backs up against the door. There’s a growing bruise around one of his red eyes. He’s been crying; you can see it clearly. You know what a crying face looks like by now. “Fuck off Captor,” he roughly wipes at his eyes.

Gamzee comes up behind you. You feel him hesitate just beyond your shoulder. “What happened, best friend?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles. “Nothing f-fucking happened.”  He wipes at his face again and now you see the scrape of red on his hand and wrist. He must have hit something concrete to shred his skin like that.

Gamzee surges past you and takes Karkat’s hand. He looms over his best friend, but he’s all gentle touches and tender tones as he asks, “What motherfucker up and did this to you, best friend?”

“Look it’s nothing,” Karkat tries to push him back but you know that nothing moves Gamzee except Gamzee. Not when he’s that intense. “I was walking home and got a little r-roughed up a-and…” he looks down, his cheeks suddenly flaring red. “I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut, I meant to get here sooner but I…”

He stops when Gamzee lifts his chin with a gentle touch. You’d be jealous, so fucking jealous, if you didn’t know that Gamzee saw Karkat like a tiny bird he had to protect. There was nothing sexual between them in the least. In that way, Gamzee was all yours.

So you kept your distance and your mouth shut as Gamzee cradled Karkat’s face in his hands. You knew what Karkat was looking up into. Dark eyes, half open, looking down into your very soul and that little smile, that smile that said anything you poured out of yourself would be taken and cherished. You were a slave to that expression.

Karkat’s shoulders sagged. “There were these guys just hanging out around the corner. I didn’t even know they were there until it was too late. Either I turned and ran like a stupid kid or I walked through them. They saw me Gamzee, it’s not like I could just back down. They were watching me, it was like a pack of wild dogs just staring at me. They didn’t even do anything until the tall one walked up.

“I don’t even know what was his fucking problem but he just got right up in my face. He breathed smoke into my face and wouldn’t let me get past. H-he called me…”  Karkat’s eyes squeezed closed. Tears leaked down his cheeks. “He called me a little cherry pop. Said that he’d like to see how many licks it took to get to my center.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You see Gamzee’s shoulders tense. “Then what happened, best friend?” Gamzee’s thumb brushed away Karkat’s tears.

“He g-grabbed my…” Karkat flushed darker red. He tries to pull his head away from Gamzee’s hands, but can’t. “He grabbed my crotch and I punched him. That’s when hell broke loose. A bunch of the other guys came walking up and I got hit in the face by one of them. The first guy just laughed and told me I should be grateful he was taking any interests in my scrawny ass at all. My scrawny ass? He has no fucking clue. I’m not scrawny at all. I’m just fucking short and this asshole,” Karkat makes an aggravated growling noise. His hands become fists, tight in front of his chest.

“This asshole gets me knocked down to the ground and I’m pushing myself up when I swear I feel him grab my ass. I don’t know how I managed to do it, but I got turned around and kicked him in the nuts as hard as I could. So he went down and the others started going after me. One of them ripped my backpack off my shoulders but I got away.” That righteous fury that filled him suddenly is gone and he looks up at Gamzee with those wide, red lined eyes. Even with that growing black eye, he can still open them so wide and innocently. “But they have my bag, my computer and my wallet and all my books. What am I supposed to do now?”

Gamzee leans in and presses his lips to Karkat’s forehead. “Don’t worry, best friend. I motherfucking got this.” He lets go of his face and pulls of his apron. Karkat looks at him in confusion, but takes the apron when Gamzee gives it to him.

Then he moves Karkat out of the way, gives you a look over his shoulder that makes your stomach clench, and walks out of the apartment.

“Jesus,” you breathe out. Karkat looks at you with a little surprise, like he forgot you were there. Yeah. You’ve been working on that. “Stay here KK. I’ll go make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“What? What could he do?”

You just kind of look at him until he closes his mouth and actually thinks about what he just said. “Plenty.” You say. You grab your coat and leave the apartment after Gamzee. You know that look he gave you. It doesn’t matter if the two of you played in blood just yesterday. This fucking gangster wannabe broke the cardinal rule.

Don’t fuck with Karkat.

* * *

The waiting is torture. You take a shower to help get the feeling of greasy fingers off your body, and that helps take up some time, but then you’re left in an empty apartment with dinner set for three and no fucking clue what exactly Gamzee could be up to. You call him, but it turns out his phone’s in his coat pocket, which he left behind. You text Sollux, but his phone is in his room.

So you bite your cheek and sit on the couch. Your stomach is a twisted mass of confusion and insecurity. And fear. Gamzee was a big guy, sure, but there was a whole gang there, and it’s not like Sollux would be any help. They’d laugh at them and beat them up. You knew you were going to have to go to the hospital to see them.

The thoughts of the hospital bring up the still fresh wound of Eridan’s death. You curl up tighter on yourself and close your eyes tightly. That was so fucked up. Him and Dave burned alive in their home like that. That was just so…

You hadn’t told anyone about how much that bothered you. You didn’t want to make Gamzee think you were any more pathetic than he already did. You complained about Eridan all the time, why would anyone think that you would actually miss the guy? But he had been a friend, and a good friend for years, and now he was just…

A charred mass of flesh and bone buried in a graveyard outside of town. You’d even gone to the funeral. That was where you’d met that guy, Bro, that friend or relative of Dave’s. The two of them were killed together so that Bro guy said they should be mourned together and buried together. Eridan’s only family was an estranged brother you don’t think even showed up so it was done like Bro said. 

You wonder how Bro would handle this. You bite your lip and slowly pull out your phone.

CG: HEY. HAVE YOU GOT A SECOND?

The second after you hit send you regret it. You haven’t talked to this Bro guy in at least a month. He probably doesn’t even remember you. Sure, the two of you may have met at the funeral and gone out to drink and grieve together a few times, but that did not make a friendship. Did it?

Sometimes you weren’t exactly sure.

TT: Hey yourself.  
TT: I have got three seconds, in fact. So why don’t you snuggle up in your little blanket and lay it on me.

You were glad no one was here to see you blush, again. That was totally unnecessary.

CG: I JUST HAD A RUN IN WITH THIS COMPLETE ASSHOLE. SO I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE THE PERFECT ACCOMPANYMENT TO THIS? TALKING TO ANOTHER ONE. 

“Shit, fuck, shit!” you hiss to yourself after your thumb hit send. Why did you send that?

CG: FUCK. I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY THAT. I’M SORRY.  
TT: No big dude. We did kind of leave on rocky terms before and I haven’t said hello in a month. I got a little busy with my projects, you know how it is.   
TT: Don’t apologize all right?   
TT: It’s not like I can’t see under your spiny exterior to the soft gooey center of fluffy kitten inside. 

You squirm on the couch. Asshole. Only he could say you had a soft gooey center and actually have you be okay with it.

TT: So what happened that spurred your out of the blue Tuesday evening reconnection communication?  
CG: IT’S KIND OF A LONG STORY.   
TT: I said I had three seconds. We haven’t even taken up one yet.   
TT: Spill.

So you do. You spill out the whole walk home. The gangsters, the groping, the black eye, all of it. Then you tell him how you told Gamzee. Told Gamzee and Sollux and they left you alone and you were…

You were frightened. You were home alone and you were goddamn scared and you hated being scared and alone.

The tears were back by the time you finished. You wished you were with Bro, telling him this face to face, even if he could see your shameful tears and blushing and stuttering. Because then at least then he’d be sitting beside you and comforting you instead of on the other side of the city, on the phone and maybe, oh god, maybe in the company of friends or someone and-

TT: You need me to come over?

You think you might have just fallen in love.

You’re about to text him back that yes, yes he should come over, when the front door opens. You wipe your eyes, delete your words and say something else instead.

CG: NO. NO I’LL BE OKAY. IT SOUNDS LIKE THEY’RE BACK NOW. I’LL TEXT YOU LATER IF MY LIFE DECIDES TO TAKE A DOWNWARDS SPRIAL FROM SHITTY TO APOCTALYPTIC HELL.   
CG: …THANKS  
TT: Anytime.

You close your phone and look up, trying to smile, when your heart leaps into your throat and stays there. Sollux is moving the coffee table to the side and Gamzee, oh fuck, Gamzee is dragging in the guy. The guy who grabbed you and harassed you and is now bleeding from a horrible gash on his face. His arm looks like its bent backwards, in a position no arm should ever go into. Your arm hurts just looking at him.

You shrink into the couch and stare with wide eyes.

Gamzee dumps the guy on the floor, making him groan in pain. He nudges him over with his toe and then says, “This the motherfucker?”

You can’t speak. All you can see is the blood on Gamzee’s knuckles, the blood on the carpet, the blood on the guy’s clothes. You open and shut your mouth like a gasping, dying fish and wish desperately that you had told Bro to show up anyway.

“KK,” you jerk your head around to see Sollux. He’s got a cut on his cheek. He’s leaning forward. You can see blood on his shirt. “Is this the fucker who copped a feel or no?”

You look down at him again.

With all the blood, it’s almost hard to tell. But then he coughs. He makes a groan and turns his head and you get a good look at those cheekbones again, that stupid gelled back hair and the scar on his forehead. He looks up at you, coughs up a little blood and groans out, “H-help… These fuck-AAAH!”

Gamzee’s stepped on his hand. You hear a sickening pop and crunch. “Best friend,” Gamzee’s smiling in a way you’ve never seen. It reminds you of the looks that killers try to have on TV, but they had never been able to really scare you with it. Now, though, now the expression has slid across the face of your closest friend for nearly two decades and you want to scream and hide under your bed.

You don’t recognize your best friend.

“Th-that’s him,” you whisper. Gamzee’s gaze looks to Sollux.

To your horror, Sollux hands him a bloody knife. Gamzee smiles again at you, you swallow a whimper in response. “Now, don’t think this is your motherfucking fault,” Gamzee says as he kneels down beside the bleeding man. “He made a motherfucking choice. It was the wrong choice, but he made it anyway. So, best friend, you’re not to blame for this.”

The blade glints as he lines it up with the man’s spine.

“We’re just weeding out the weak and stupid,” Sollux murmurs beside you. His eyes are on Gamzee, focused entirely, “Taking out those who pretend to not realize, not know what is coming.”

“The false believers,” Gamzee says. The blade sinks into the gangster’s flesh with a crunch and a ripping sound.

His blue eyes, blue like Eridan’s were, stare up at you from the floor as he dies. His furrowed, angry expression slackens to confusion and then to nothing. His head falls down with a thunk.

You whimper. Gamzee straightens up. He says something but all you can hear is the pounding in your ears of your heartbeat. You clutch your phone as they move around you, cleaning up the body. When they guide you from the couch to the kitchen, you move in a daze. Heavy feet, heavy tongue, your hands feel numb. You keep your phone clutched in hand.

Somewhere between the couch and the kitchen, they’ve gone and cleaned up. There’s no blood now, no blood anywhere. They smile at you and Gamzee pats your shoulder. Sollux serves you dinner and the two talk about something. You eat. Somehow you eat. You don’t taste anything, but when Gamzee asks you how it tastes you tell him it’s great.

All you can see is those dying blue eyes. The red on his hands. The knife.

They continue the evening like it’s done every evening, doing the dishes together and then going to put in a movie. Only this time there’s a towel where the coffee table should be and when you see the blood on the floor you start to scream.

You don’t stop screaming until they have you in Sollux’s room. They hook up the TV there and the three of you watch movies on his bed instead.

Distantly, you realize that they have gone to sleep on either side of you, their hands joined in your lap.

Distantly, you realize that your two best friends are murderers. You consider lying down on the bed between them. The movie’s credits are rolling. Gamzee snores softly and Sollux’s breath is shallow and wheezy.

You look down. You’re still holding your phone.

There are unread messages.

TT: So what’s the forecast for your life? Spiraling up or down?  
TT: I’m going to get a cake baked for you from my friend and I need to know if it should say “My life is a downwards spiral into hell” or “I’m sorry I can’t hear you over the sound of my awesomeness”.   
TT: Also chocolate cake is cool, right?   
TT: Never mind. Spice cake sounds better.   
TT: You haven’t decided to gloat yet so I’m telling her the spiral to hell is the right cake. She says it’s best if enjoyed while extremely intoxicated. Sounds like a plan to me.   
TT: So do you want to go out and drink or are you doing your weird threesome date with your bestfriend and his boyfriend again.   
TT: Hint: You can always go out after.   
TT: I know a bar that stays open till six am. Well you know it too. Whatever. Text me when you decide if you want cake and beer. You’ve still got three seconds of my time to spend.  
CG: WOULDN’T I HAVE TAKEN AT LEAST ONE UP BY NOW? YOU’VE BEEN TEXTING ME FOR HOURS.  
TT: Ah. Good to see your text again. So what’s the verdict?  
CG: MY BEST FRIENDS ARE MURDERERS. I THINK I MIGHT BE AN ACSESSORY TO IT. I’M NOT EXACTLY SURE HOW THAT ACSESSORY THING WORKS. I ALSO CAN’T MOVE BECAUSE THEY’RE ASLEEP ON EITHER SIDE OF ME AND HAVE THEIR HANDS OVER ME.  
TT: What the fuck?  
CG: AND PLEASE DON’T ACCUSE ME OF LYING OR KIDDING BECAUSE I SAW A GUY DIE ON MY LIVING ROOM FLOOR AND THEN WE ALL HAD DINNER AND WATCHED MOVIES LIKE ITS JUST ANOTHER PART OF OUR NIGHT.   
CG: IT WAS LIKE, HEY KARKAT I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THAT WE BRING YOUR ASSULTER TO YOUR HOUSE AND QUESTION YOU AND THEN STAB HIM IN FRONT OF YOU. WE’LL GET THE BLOOD OUT OF THE CARPET DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT WE HAVE OXYCLEAN. HA HA HA.  
TT: I’m coming over  
CG: PLEASE.

You feel tears gathering in your eyes.

CG: SAVE ME.  
TT: Anytime.

You have to cover your mouth to keep from sobbing too loudly. With Bro coming, you finally feel confident enough to try and move off the bed. When you lift their hands, Gamzee mumbles something and starts moving.

“Shh, go back to sleep fucknugget,” you hiss, trying to emulate yourself from a time when you actually had control over your life, “I’m just taking a piss.”

That calms him down enough that you can get out. The two of them curl closer together once you’re off the bed. You actually go to the bathroom to pee, but when you see that black plastic bag where they stuffed that guy’d body just sitting in the tub you decide to hold it. Instead you unlock the front door and step outside in your coat.

There, you sit and wait for Bro to arrive. 


	7. Bingo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A middle of the night call wakes Vriska up in the middle of the night. The scene that unfolds before her holds more in it than a simple, single, brutal murder.

A jarring ringing sound brings you out of a dead sleep.

Or more precisely, a hand and knee pushing at your back until you nearly fall of the bed, brings you out of a dead sleep. You smack the offending limbs with one hand and grab your phone with the other. You flip it open and put it to your ear. “The fuck is this and the fuck do you want?”

“I know it’s early but you’re going to want this one. It might pan out to be just another red herring but we might have our killers.”

“What? English is this you?” You rub the sleep out of your eyes. Your fiancé smacks your side with the back of her hand and grumbles something about feeding you to her fish if you don’t get out of bed to talk.

You ignore her in favor of your partner. “Who else would dare invoke the wrath of Vriska Serket at three in the morning? I got a solid tip from a trusted source. He says he knows this guy who’s roommate and best friend killed someone in front of him. Turns out the roommate and best friend are lovers, too. And guess how long they’ve been together?”

You’ve never woken up so quickly in your life, “Since Aranea…”

“Bingo.”

“Let me get some pants on and I’ll meet you there. Text me the address.”

“Already done. I’m on my way over with some back up, but we’re going to go in quiet. We’ve got the permission of the lease owner to go in and as far as we know they’re totally asleep. Hurry on over.” He says a quick goodbye after that and hangs up. You flip your phone shut, shove it in your bra for safe holding and roll over.

You kiss Rose madly all over her face. She opens her eyes blearily and says, “Oh go fucking arrest someone already. Text me if you’re going to come back at a more sane hour.” She waves you off with a hand. You kiss that a couple times too for good measure and then hurry off to get dressed.

In your gut you can feel it. These are the ones.

* * *

There are several police cars, lights off, lining the street when you make it to the apartment. You’re only two blocks away from where Aranea was found stabbed to death. An officer directs you to go up to the sixth floor. You head up the elevator with a couple other officers and then down the hall. Jake’s talking to some blonde guy. You blink once and then recognize him as the brother of one of your victims.

You walk up.  Jake catches sight of you. “Serket, good, now we can get ready to move in.” He gives you a smile, “I figured you’d want to be here for the actual arrest.”

“Oh God, Oh God…” Now you notice the man standing beside Mr. Strider. He’s got the taller, older man’s arm around his shoulder and his face is so pale his freckles look like a fine spray of dried blood on his cheeks. “This is actually happening…” He turns his face into Strider’s side.

Jake gives his sympathetic smile. “Now Mr. Vantas, I just want to be absolutely certain. You had no idea what either of them were capable of before tonight?”

Admittedly, the little guy has a decent glare that he gives your partner. “Do I look like I fucking knew they were murderers? It’s bad enough they killed that greaser guy, but you’re telling me they killed… they killed others? More? That they could have killed… Eridan and… and Dave… Does it fucking look like I knew that they were capable of killing my fucking friends?” His voice begins to rise towards the end of it, but Strider strokes his hair and gets him quiet again as he finishes.

“English,” Strider says, “He had no idea. I don’t think they wanted him to know. What else is there to know? He texted me as soon as he was able to do so without fear and I called you as soon as I heard. Just get it over with already.”

Jake nods and looks to you, “Ready?”

You pull your gun out and cock it, “Let’s get theses sons of bitches.” You’re grinning. You can’t help it. Finally you can put your sister at peace.

The both of you head towards the door. Jake starts reaching for the knob and turns it, slowly. He pushes open the door a crack and that’s when you hear it.

“What do you mean he’s not in the fucking apartment?” Voices from inside. Jake curses under his breath.

“He’s not in the motherfucking apartment. His motherfucking keys are still here. And his little shoes but the motherfucker is out!” Jake pushes the door open slowly. It doesn’t creak, thank god. He shoulders his way in, glances around and then slips in. You follow.

The place looks all right, but it reeks of blood. You lift your gun up. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. Adrenaline makes your fingers and toes tingle. The two of you are followed by another few officers. Jake waves you off to the right. You and two more guys step quickly towards the kitchen and declare it clear with a motion of your hand.

There’s a thump from the hallway and the voices get louder. “He can’t have just gone out. He doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t see anyone. He doesn’t fucking-,”

You can just see the profile of one of the guys. He’s fucking tall, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. His eyes widen and then narrow. His lip pulls back in a sneer that’s only accentuated by the smeared makeup on his face. He’s bare from the waist up and what is exposed has a few faded tattoos and scars.

The only thing that stands out to you, besides the facepaint, is a tattoo on his upper shoulder of a black outlined golden Gemini symbol.

He smiles. “Hey motherfuckers. Welcome to the motherfucking party.” He moves too quick for his size. There’s a black bag in his hand that goes sailing through the air and hits an officer. Then he’s lunging off to the side and –fuck- he gets right in your face.

He smells like soap and grease and bleach. He grabs the front of your shirt. You put the barrel of your gun to his chest and sneer, “Put me the fuck down right now.”

“Sure.” He slams you back, hard, into the wall. You lose the wind from your breath and the strength from your legs. You hear gunshots, distantly, but he crouches down as you slide down and springs up again, into someone else. You feel plaster land on your head. You struggle to bring up your gun and as soon as you do some asshole tries to kick it out.

This skinny bastard gets up in your face. You slam out the heel of your hand into his face and hear a delightful crunch. As he goes back, you see the glint of a knife in his hand. There’s red on the blade.

The huge man come’s lunging for you again. There’s blood on his hands and on his arms, like he’s been shot but is ignoring it.

You roll over, grab the skinny fucker with your legs over his twiggy arms and grind your heel onto the top of his hand, making him drop the knife with a shout. You put the barrel of your gun to his temple and look up. The big man is suddenly very still, eyes watching you. “Let go of him,” he growls at you.

“Not a fucking chance,” you reply. “Lay face down on the floor, put your hands behind your back and be a good little boy while we arrest you.”

You can feel the fucker breathing like a smoke stack between your legs. His eyes are wild and staring at you. “GZ,” he says.

You press the gun harder against his head, “Shut the fuck up.”

From somewhere beyond the three of you behind the couch comes the shout, “You didn’t kill them did you? Please, I know they fucked up but you didn’t kill them? Right?”

The big man’s shoulders slump, “Karkat,” he breathes out, “He’s safe.”

Then, to your utter surprise, he lays down on the floor and puts his hands behind his back. “Jake!” you shout, “Get over here, quick!”

Jake jumps the couch and starts arresting the big guy. The scrawny one twists until he can put his wrists together and offer them, “Me too,” he says. “Take me with him.” He looks at you with such painful devotion it, for some really fucked up reason, can only remind you of your fiance’s ex. “Don’t take him away from me.”

You pull out your cuffs and get them on him. He doesn’t struggle anymore so you get him out of the lock and get to your feet. You drag him up to his own and then look to Jake. He’s got the big guy up on his feet. The two fucking insane criminals smile at each other.

“Come on asshole,” you say, “You’ve got a lot of shit to explain.” You shove the little one ahead of you and to the front door. In the hallway, you pass the little shouting guy and Strider. Strider doesn’t say a thing and the other one just bites his lip and watches them walk past.

The only time you have trouble with them is when you start putting your captive in one car and Jake puts his in another. The spindly asshole starts squirming and trying to get out of your grip. He’s babbling about being with his homicidal lover. You’re about to pistol whip him into submission when Jake comes over and takes him away.

“We need them to co-operate, Serket,” he tells you once he’s got them both in the back of the same squad car. “If they’re going to tell us everything, we should give them a little something of what they want.”

“Idiot,” you call him, “They’re just going to make up their story sitting together like that.”

“Maybe.” He replies, “maybe not. Just trust me on this.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but nod. “Fine. But I’m driving them to the station myself.”

He nods, “Take an officer with you. I’ll stay for the paramedics and the coroner. We’ll get the body in the bag identified, hopefully and get our men taken care of.” He heads back to the building.

You wave over some blue eyed over eager officer and tell him to start up the engine on the squad car.  You climb into the passenger side and keep a sharp ear peeled to listen to the prisoners. Jake’s right, though. They sit in silence for the whole trip back.

Eerie, smiling, complacent silence.

It gives you the fucking creeps.


	8. Accessory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terezi Pyrope has been a District Attorney for a long time and there is good reason for that. Terezi is very, very good at her job. There's nothing she'd like more than to do her job, except, perhaps, spend time with her niece.

The rooms were set up in perfect balance. On one side is a room with a table, a couple of uninteresting chairs, a door and a one way mirror. On the other side was an identical room, same table, chairs even door and mirror. In the center you can peer into both rooms, record the information inside, control the lights and even the lock on the door, if you had to. In the center you could watch the scales of law and order tip one way or another, presenting information to help or hinder.

Justice may be said to be blind, but when you stood in that center room and watched whichever piece of scum or innocent-until-proven-otherwise that has been dragged in get questioned, you felt like you could see everything.

There was the way people acted when you were in the room with them, the way they acted when they were alone and then the way they acted when alone and being watched. And then, your favorite, there was the way people acted when being confronted by a third party and you were able to see everything.

It was almost as fun watching the detectives working as it was the criminals or maybe-innocents they questioned.

Take, for example, the newest pair of little murderers brought in.

To your left sat a man with so many sharp edges you were impressed that his skin could hold him together. He sat with shoulders hunched and chin down. He kept his hands on the table, scratching his nail uselessly against the metal surface. He hadn’t said a word since he had arrived.

In that room with him was a new detective to homicide. She had long blonde hair and long black boots and you still remember the first time you saw her in an officer’s uniform wielding a pen like a weapon all its own. You knew she was going to move up and had only marginally been surprised when she went into narcotics instead of vice. Wicked sharp girls like her did always make interesting decisions though.

And now she was in homicide. She was half out of her seat, hands on the table, leaning across it and talking to the man across from her. Where he was still, almost motionless except for his hands, she was a line of energy from the curls of her hair to the bend of her elbows, even down to the back of her legs. You sigh to yourself. Oh if only you were ten years younger, you could see yourself pursuing someone as alive and wild as that.

You stepped closer to the glass on this side, turning up the volume so you can hear her interrogate the man.

“How long are you willing to sit in silence like this? We have your prints on the knife. We have your prints on the bag. You’re going to go to jail. But that’s not all we have, we have the testimony of that little guy. He said you didn’t do it, you didn’t even touch the guy until after. He says that your big friend was the killer and he was the one who dragged that man in.” Her fingers tap a picture. Even from here you can tell it’s a shot of the victim’s disembodied head.

“You know, this man right here. Did you know his name? Cronus. He went through as surprising amount of shit this year. Had his brother get killed and one of his best friends earlier this year.”

The skinny guy’s head bobs a little but he doesn’t look up. He’s staring down at the pictures in silence.

“Cronus Ampora lost his brother, Eridan. Right around Christmas too.”

You wonder where she’s going with this. These two were caught red handed, pretty much, with the Ampora guy’s remains. You weren’t entirely sure why they were being brought in at all. With an eyewitness their testimony would just be icing on the cake of your trial.

“Eridan was burned alive in his apartment. And then a couple months before that Cronus loses another couple of friends.” Serket continues, pulling pictures out of a file. You try to see them but you’re just a bit too far. “Murdered in an alley. One stabbed, one beaten to death with a baseball bat.”

The man, very quietly, gasps. His hands go still.

Serket eases back into her chair and turns her hands so her palms are up on the table. “Captor, we’ve got you on Cronus, but, personally, I don’t think you have much to do with the rest of these. I’m pretty certain that other guy, your boyfriend, was out murdering these people. But my partner doesn’t believe me and the captain’s going to listen to him.” You can hear a lie in her voice. It’s barely there. Most people wouldn’t catch it but, well…

You could practically smell a lying tongue.

“You’ll just end up going to jail because of him. Is it worth that? Is he worth that? You’re throwing your life away for a roll in the sheets!”

He lifts his pointed chin and smiles. It’s thin. His lips are dry and cracked. “Yes.”

Serket makes an annoyed sound and gathers up the pictures. “I’ll give you some time to think about it, Captor. Think about what you’re giving up, school and your work, your friend Vantas, and your father. Give it some time.” She stands up with the files. “And I’ll come back in to see if you want to talk soon.”

His head bobs like a bird's and Serket walks out of the room.

You turn down the volume on the speaker and move to the other side of the room.

Here’s the counterpart to that spindly boy, and to Serket.

Jake English sits in the room, across the table, from one of the tallest and largest men you have ever seen. Not just over six feet, but wide in shoulder and sides. He reminds you a little of that new movie you saw with your niece the other night about an arcade game.

The two of them share a couple of cups of coffee. English is playing that nice cop routine, asking simple questions, being so polite about it. The big guy, Gamzee Makara, you’ve been told is his name, nods here and there and shakes his head. Yes and no answers only, with the occasional snorting chuckle.

You turn up the volume and listen in.

“You know I’ve been trying to help you this whole time. I really only want you to be able to tell us your side, to give us a complete picture of what happened that night. Do you understand?”

A nod.

“Bad or good, you know you’ve got to let it out. My partner right now is getting what happened from your boyfriend, and when we pair that with Mr. Vantas’s story,” a frown from Makara, “we still need yours to know what exactly happened. Can you walk me through it?”

A shake of the head. A soft chuckle.

“Mr. Makara, I’m really doing all I can. Who knows what Captor will say. He could put the knife in your hand, put all the blame on you. He could throw you right under the bus and get away with a slap on the wrist, is that what you want?”

A shrug this time. The movement of his huge shoulder ripples across his whole body.

“How about we try talking about Mr. Ampora again.”

A nod. A smile. Sniggering laughter again.

English pushes the picture forward. Makara touches the edge of it gently. “Did you know him before he was in your friend’s apartment?”

A shake.

“Did you ever see him before he was in your friend’s apartment?”

A quick nod. A sharp smile.

“How about this man, did you know him?” English slides forwards another picture. As far as you can tell it looks like two men standing together.

The smile fades but Makara nods, slowly.

“How about the other man in the photo with him, did you know him?”

A minute nod.

“Is it true that these two men were friends of Mr. Vantas?”

Makara’s hands tighten every time English says the name of the friend. You hum to yourself, curious about that. He nods again.

“This man here, Eridan is his name. He was brothers with the man found in your friend’s apartment.”

There’s a moment of silence while English flips open a notebook. Makara stares at him in utter silence. “Can you tell me where you were on the night of December twenty ninth?”

Makara smiles. It’s slow and spreads across his face like a the side of an overripe peach squeezed too hard. “I can. But I won’t.” He closes his eyes. His head dips down a little and he just, right before your eyes, completely shuts down.

In vain, English continues to try and question him, but all Makara does is sit still and breathe. Eventually even his patience runs out and English walks out of the room.

You smile, glad that there are no recording cameras trained on you. People were just so blind and simple in the end.

* * *

“You need to put them into the same room,” you say, walking up to the trio. Serket, English and their captain Harley are standing talking but you really don’t give a fuck about what their next plans are. They aren’t the right plans. They aren’t the plans that will make the men talk. “And I need to talk to them.”

Serket folds her arms tightly across her chest, “You think you can get through to them when we can’t?”

“Think? No. I know that can.” You flash her a grin but turn your attention to Harley. “Let me talk to them for just a couple of minutes. Your guys can stick around if they want to see how to break into the mind of a couple of criminals as fucked up as these.”

“They won’t fold for us,” English says cautiously, “But Ms. Pyrope does have a gift with these harder cases.”

Harley strokes his moustache thoughtfully. “Hm. Fine fine. Five minutes with them. English you’re in the room with her and Serket you monitor. Be careful. That Makara one seems intensely dangerous.”

“Of course,” you reply and turn on your heel. English comes trotting after you eagerly, always up for an interview, and Serket follows eventually.

Moving them to the same room is simple. Captor gets his bony ass up and moves gladly into Makara’s room. They sit next to each other, close to each other, holding hands on top of the table like some old married couple. You come striding in, ignore the chair you’re supposed to sit in, and stand before them, hands on your hips.

“So, boys, this is how it’s going to go.”

They look up at you mutely, but smiling. They’re so calm. Too calm.

Good thing you know exactly what to say then, isn’t it?

“Without a confession of your actions, you two will be going to trial. In said trial, your court appointed lawyers will be looking for everything and anything to keep you out of jail even though we all know that there is blood on your hands. I, on the other hand, will be doing everything I can to send you to jail.

“As it stands, I will be using Karkat Vantas,” there’s the twitch in Makara you were looking for, “as my key witness along with all the evidence that there is. This means he will be going to court, as many times as I need him to, to relive this night over and over.

“Not only that, but your lawyers will be cross examining him. They will tear into Vantas with everything they have to try and discredit him. They will look into his history for months, if he drinks, if he does drugs, who he talks to, who his friends are. They will look for any connection and make any claim that they possibly could. From what I’ve heard, it seems that Ampora came onto Vantas, maybe he followed him home, maybe all this is a fiction made up by Vantas to save his own skin from when he stabbed Ampora for his advances.”

Makara’s hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Who knows what they’ll pick. What I do know is that there is a connection between Vantas and Ampora, and his brother, and that if the jury hears enough about it, has enough of even an inkling that they think Vantas could have, might have, should have killed Ampora, well, then they’ll let you free.

“However,” you lift your hand, raising a finger, “the price of your freedom will break him. Shatter him absolutely. I have no doubt in my mind that if he had to be pulled apart like that in public that, well maybe he’ll start thinking he had it wrong, maybe he’ll second guess himself, and maybe the pressure of the press following him, hounding him, asking him if he’s a murderer…well…”

You sigh and shrug, shaking your head apologetically, “Some people just don’t survive that kind of pressure.”

Makara is breathing heavily, eyes boring into you with so much hatred and anger. You feel a chill of fear run down your spine, but it’s barely there with the adrenaline pouring through your veins. This is what you were born for. Laying it out, pouring out the actions of others in a logical, predictable manner and making it seem so plausible, that was your forte.

You shift your gaze to the skinny one. His fingers look like they’re going to break if Makara holds on any tighter, but he hasn’t said a word. He just looks up at you with his eyes narrow behind his glasses.

“You’ll be getting a lighter sentence. Maybe even just accessory. If you two are tried and convicted, you’ll go to a minimum security prison, while he,” you gesture to Makara, “will be in maximum. There is no way that he won’t be going to one.”

When it doesn’t look like it’s sunk in properly, you add, “I think we’ll send him out to the country. There’s a nice maximum security place that is surrounded by desert for miles. You will probably go farther south, maybe down by the coast a ways. Hundreds of miles apart. For years.”

Captor’s eyes go wide and then wider still. He turns his head to look at his companion and whispers, “GZ…”

Makara hangs his head. You see his shoulder slump and his grip on Captor’s hand relax. “We’ll motherfucking confess…but only under some motherfucking proper conditions.”

You hear English shift behind you and glance out of the corner of your eye to him. He’s impressed.

“And what are they?” You ask, knowing already.

“Keep Karkat out of this, all of it,” Makara says, “we go to prison together. We bunk together. We stay together. If that happens, we’ll confess everything. Not just that motherfucker in the black bag. We’ll talk.” He looks to English, “about all of them.”

“And no death penalty!” Captor adds quickly, “For either of us.”

You laugh, “We can do those first two, gentlemen, but as for the last…” you shrug. “If it’s as bad as it sounds, there may not be any choice in the matter.”

They exchange a look. Captor looks down first.

“Just keep us together and Karkat out of this motherfucking mess,” Makara says. “The less he knows the motherfucking better.”

“Deal.” You say, half turning to English. “Get their statements. I’ve got a couple of papers to fill out.” With a smug smile cast to the mirror behind you, where you know Serket is seething at your skill—give yourself a couple of decades, girl—you turn and walk out of the interrogation room.

Terezi Pyrope succeeds again. 


	9. It's an Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't give up on your friendship, even though you're on one side of the thick glass and he's on the other. He doesn't give up on visiting you or telling you things or treating you like a human, even when all else think that you're a monster.
> 
> You are Sollux Captor and you didn't realize just how good a friend Karkat could be.

The glass between you and Karkat was thick and scratched. It seemed more like plastic than anything else, but it really was bulletproof glass. That’s the kind of security you received at maximum prison, you supposed.

You hunch forward in your chair, holding the probably riddled with diseases phone to your ear and listen to Karkat rant.

“…brother just can’t fucking believe that everything is going to be fine, you know? He’s got this serious doom prospect shit going round and I think that it’s all because of this weird asshole friend he has. I haven’t even fucking met the guy but Kankri just talks on and on and _on_ about how he’s gotta be there for him and I’m just like oh my fucking god just shut up for once in your life. Or at least take a fucking breath! His face is going to become as red as his goddamn sweater if he doesn’t fucking breathe and then he’ll go purple and he’ll be a hodgepodge mess of color vomit that only someone who was fucking blind could ever like…”

You’d missed this. A lot. Karkat’s updates always came in these huge block form and they were the only thing from the past that brought you such nostalgia. You nod your head and listen to him. You’ll get a couple words in at the end, but nothing’s changed for you in the last six months.

Karkat, well, he lived enough for the both of you, honestly.

“…don’t particularly want to think about where the fuck he learned that,” he whispers this part, leaning in with flushed cheeks, “but goddamn I get so weak-kneed when he looks at me cause I know what’s about to happen. I know that I called him speedy last time but fuck he’s only fast with his hands, you know? I didn’t think anyone could get their pants off that damn quick and that’s not even the worst part. I’ll be standing there scowling and telling him off for some stupid asshole shit that he pulls and when I turn around I’ll just find my pants down around my fucking knees. I don’t have any fucking clue how he manages it.

 “It’s fucking insane how fast all of this happened with him. One second I’m just insulting his stupid pony loving ass and the next I’m trying not to picture a fucking wedding. It’s stupid crazy but I just feel so damn safe with him. I mean he shoots guns and has all those swords out all the time. He and I do this weird strifing thing on his roof it’s fucked up and he’s got all these damn scars from it but goddamn I never thought I’d willingly get fucked on gravel so many fucking times. He’s fucking dangerous but he shows it you know? Shows it so I know what’s going on with him.”

He goes very quiet very quickly.

You tap a knuckle on the glass and say, “GZ never wanted you to worry about him, or yourself or anything. The whole fucking point was that you didn’t know what was going on.”

“Yeah, and look where that got you.”

You sigh. You’d put a comforting arm around his shoulder and pat his stupid head if you could. “Don’t worry about me. All that matters is you. You’re well, and happy. That what GZ always wanted. Sure maybe he would have had a bone to pick with this guy you’re with but if you’re really feeling safe with him, even with all the shit he does, GZ would have backed down in a heartbeat. You were always really important to him, his best damn friend and don’t fucking forget it.”

Karkat gives you a puzzled, wondrous look.

“What is it?” you ask.

“You sound different,” he says slowly, “like…remember how you used to sit around and say how you were a piece of shit all the time? Everything was fucked up no matter what? That no matter what you did it didn’t even fucking count because of murphy’s law?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“You don’t sound like that anymore. You sound like everything’s fine. Even after what happened to you and to Gamzee, what you two did… I almost believe you that he would want me just to be happy.”

“Well you should, that’s kind of everything he fucking strove for, in his own way. And maybe I’ve just … well maybe I finally feel safe myself, you know?”

He laughs. “It took maximum security prison for you to finally feel safe? Figures. You were always so fucking paranoid.”

“With good reason!”

“Yeah, because you were a murderer.”

There’s laughter shared between you. Karkat wipes tears away after a while, “Fuck I will be going to hell for that one.”

“Worth it.”

“Jackass.” Karkat shakes his head at you. “Anyway, it looks like my time is up.” He gives a soft little sigh. You know why without him saying a word.

You tap the glass again to get his attention, “You know GZ would be here if he could, KK. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up fucknuts,” he says halfheartedly. “I’ve got to go. See you in a couple weeks.”

“See you.”

He hangs up his line and waves a little before walking off. You hang up your side and sigh heavily. Then you get out of your chair and head to the door. The guard buzzes you through and you head out.

You keep walking until you reach the yard.

It’s a brilliantly sunny and hot day. A lot of the men are busy with different sports or whatever the fuck they do with all those courts and nets and balls. You head out to a set of stairs used as seats along the far wall, in the shade. It’s like one of those hierarchy things in solid form. The trash sits at the bottom and the king of the dung heap sits at the top. You head up the steps, hands in your pockets as you pick your way around the idiots all around.

At the top, you sit down with your back against the wall and your legs stretched out in front of you. An arm curls around your shoulders and brings you to lean against a warm, comfortable side. You chuckle as Gamzee leans down and kisses you.

“How is he?” he asks with his lips still against yours.

“Bitching and moaning,” you reply.

“Good that the little motherfucker is happy.” He pulls back and looks over his new, restricted kingdom. You feel a little like Simba in the Lion King, looking over the grounds with Gamzee the king of them all at your side.

After a while you say, “GZ, I got an itch.” Your fingers tighten into fists. You want the smooth handle of a knife in your hand, but all you have is air.

“What kind?”

You hiss softly, your hands twisting in a wringing gesture. Gamzee chuckles and says, “You know what you should do with an itch like that?”

“Hm?” his breath is warm against your ear.

“Scratch it bloody.”


End file.
